Infinity
by Miss Scarlet
Summary: Alfred and Steve are alive and inexplicably back on Rockfort Island. Forced to co-operate to avoid the rival company ransacking the island in search of the T-Veronica virus, they discover a deadly enemy who exists only inside their heads. Now Complete.
1. Everything Has to Start Somewhere

Infinity

**Infinity**

**By Miss Scarlet**

Infinity. Such a terrifying thought. The human mind simply cannot contemplate it. It is eternal, endless, everywhere. Death must be infinite then, the end of everything. An omnipresent stalker, invisible to the eye, silent, invulnerable. But it is always there. And when death catches you, you are lost in infinity, cradled for eternity in its skeletal grip.

Swathed in blackness. Alone, without a notion. Something is not right. In the distance, a trickle of a thought appeared.

_I'm alive?_

He started to breathe, in short, ragged gasps, the sound manifesting itself so far away. Each breath was laboured, and the boy sucked in the air, hungry for oxygen, hungry for the life he had left behind. When had that been? 

_I'm alive _

As if on cue, his eyes snapped open, his pupils roving uncontrollably. He wanted to smile, and laugh, celebrate his rebirth. 

_I can't believe it! I'm alive!_

His vision cleared, with such mind numbing slowness that he wanted to scream in rage. All his emotions felt so suppressed. He opened his mouth, his lips forming meaningless words, longing to talk like he used to be able to do. Longing to see people he had not seen.

_How good it feels to breathe again. To speak, to think. How I had missed this! But I can't have done. How can you think when you are dead? What is happening to me?_

__

He stared at the ceiling, his mouth twisted into an insane smile. Large white tiles lined so neatly on the ceiling, stretching on their eternal march out of his vision.

_Where are you Claire? I need you. I miss you. Are you here with me?_

He slowly turned his head, wincing as his neck clicked. These unfamiliar movements. How long had he been lying here? His gaze focussed on a figure lying close by. A sudden horrified shock – is that her? But no. Another person, a man, lying with his head turned away. A uniform. It looked so familiar

_Why does it hurt so much when I move?_

He shut his eyes tightly, his head spinning. 

_I've come back from the dead. Was I even dead? How can I be sure? How do I know I had died? How do I know I was ever alive?_

The answer to that question was obvious to him. He had been alive, very much so. He had met a girl Claire Redfield, and he had loved her. Love is not a figment of the imagination. Such feelings can never be created artificially. Can they?

---

Steve stepped gingerly towards the figure lying on the bench opposite him. The floor was cold and smooth, and his feet slipped every other step as he moved. His eyes widened in shock. It was Alfred. Alfred Ashford. That maniacal gun-wielding lunatic. He took a step closer, intrigued, and reached out to the prone figure. _Was he dead?_

Alfred's arm shot out of nowhere and his hand clamped over Steve's wrist. His eyes shot open, and fixed on Steve with a malevolent glare. "Not so fast," he croaked, tightening his grip.

"Alfred! You're alive!" Steve gasped, backing away as far as he could, tugging his hand out of Alfred's grip.

"No thanks to you," he snarled in reply. 

Steve moved back to the desk he had been lying on, and leaned heavily against it, steadying himself against the cold metal. _That's right,_ he realised. _I killed him_

Alfred sat up slowly, clutching the bench for support; his eyes still on Steve. "Yes. You killed me." He got to his feet unsteadily, wincing at some pinpoint of pain. "You shot me."

"If I hadn't, you would have shot me," Steve protested, looking around. _There has to be some way out of here,_ he thought anxiously_. I'm beginning to think that I'm in hell, because this sure isn't heaven._

Alfred looked at him angrily. "Of course you aren't in hell. You're in my crypt, for want of a better word. Can't the dead rest in peace?"

Steve gasped. "What the hell? I didn't say that!"

"Say what?" Alfred sneered, easing himself forwards slowly.

"I didn't say that about heaven out loud! I thought it!" he snapped, pointing at Alfred. "What are you doing?" _Is he reading my thoughts?_

"I'm not reading your thoughts!" Alfred screeched, suddenly outraged. "Don't you understand? You killed me!"

"And your sister killed me!" Steve roared, moving towards Alfred purposely.

Alfred faltered. "A- Alexia? She killed you?"

"Yes! Not directly, but yes! So we both should be dead, all right? Now tell me how you are reading my thoughts!"

"I'm not!"

Steve sighed. _Freak_, he thought, with a bitter look at Alfred. _If you can read my thoughts, you'll know what I'm thinking now. You'll hear this I died. You did too. We're both alive. There has to be a reason. I suggest that before you attempt to tear my throat out, we look around to some clue as to why we are here. And where we are, as well. _

"We're back on Rockfort Island. I've been here a few times. A hidden door. Close to the prison cells. She she's the only one who knows the code to get in here."

"So you can read my thoughts!" Steve said. "Well stop it!"

Alfred sneered. "I can't help it. I don't even know I'm doing it. Now are you going to look around or what?"

"What about you?"

"I'm tired," he replied, and turned away.

Steve looked around. Strange metallic walls lined the room, with a table in one corner and a door in another. Everything seemed so sterile. He leafed through some files on the table. A piece of parchment fell into his fingers, with Alfred' written at the top. _It looks like a letter. For Alfred_

Alfred looked up. "Give me that! And stop thinking!" He snatched the letter away from Steve, sat down on one of the two benches and began to read.

---

To my dearest Alfred,

How are you feeling? Drowsy, nauseous? It is just a side effect of the treatment I used on you. Don't worry. There is something I need you to do. Don't kill the boy. 

You have to find out how he was able to overthrow the T-Veronica virus. Do what you have to do, but don't hurt him. I'll find you when I can.

I've sent you both to Rockfort Island for a reason. What is happening there? I want you to organise a team to dispose of any incriminating evidence about the Ashford family's involvement in recent events concerning Umbrella.

On the desk should be a small container of the treatment I used on you. Enough to treat one person. If you attempt to lessen the dose and thus save more people, it will fail. It has the power to revive all bodily functions, even from death. Don't waste it, Alfred.

I have great faith in you. Don't let me down,

Your loving sister, Alexia Ashford

---

Alfred folded the letter and tucked it into the pocket of his jacket, still stained with his own blood. That was a disappointment. He had been looking forward to exacting his revenge on the treacherous Steve Burnside. Still, his petty needs and wants paled in comparison to Alexia's ideas for the future, and it was not up to him to decide what was right and what was wrong. 

His eye rested on a small test-tube of pale blue liquid, with a thick rubber bung fastened in the end. This must be the miraculous stuff Alexia had mentioned in her letter. 

He glanced back at Steve nervously. The boy was fiddling with the door, trying to find some way to open it. He looked back at the test-tube, and wrinkled his nose thoughtfully.

He shouldn't share his discovery with Steve. Not just yet. He should make peace in some way, but some things were best kept to himself. It wasn't lying especially because Steve had killed him. No, it was temporary revenge; to postpone any ill feeling he had for the boy, and prevent him from doing anything rash. When he put that way, it sounded almost necessary. 

He smiled, his pale blue eyes glittering. This wasn't going to be too bad after all, he decided suddenly, and he tucked the test-tube into his pocket as well. 

_Yes!_ "Hey, Alfred! I got the door open! That was a lock I don't want to have to pick again!" he crowed, delighted with his achievement.

Alfred turned and raised his eyebrows. "Congratulations," he snapped dryly. His eyes widened when he noticed that Steve was clutching an impressive Magnum that Alfred had never seen before. "Where did you get that?" he demanded, anger seething inside him.

"It was lying over there," he said, with a shrug. "Come on then, if you're coming. We are outta here!"

---

Alfred frowned, gunshots ringing in his ears. "It sounds like there's a battle going on. I thought I had destroyed everything before"

"Obviously you didn't," Steve replied quietly. "Let's just go outside and see what's happening." He began to climb the granite stairs, his magnum raised protectively in front of him, and still the sound of a gunfight rang on. _Perhaps it's the people who attacked the island. Maybe zombies are attacking them._

"How perceptive of you," Alfred snapped from somewhere behind him.

_Stop doing that! Can't I have a little privacy?_

"I don't enjoy listening to your thoughts, you know. The amount of time you spend thinking about Claire Redfield is disturbing."

"Shut up," Steve growled. "You're a fine one to talk about being disturbed. And deranged." He emerged from the stairwell into a small dingy graveyard. Pale, skinny zombies littered the soil path, their blood pooling out from under them, mingling with the puddles and being washed away by the heavy rain. Steve bit his lip. _It's disgusting_

"Boo hoo," Alfred muttered. 

"I know where we are. We're in the prison. Through this door is the courtyard," he said, indicating with his thumb. "And that's the wrecked truck that was carrying the special alloy."

"Amazing."

"So what do we do?"

"Try going through the door. It's not that difficult," Alfred sighed. Steve stood still, listening. "Well," Alfred said angrily, "I'll do it, seeing as you can't be bothered to move." He strode past the chain-link fence and reached out to the door. "Hurry up," he ordered.

"No, wait, I can hear someone on the other side of the door," Steve said quickly, backing into the wreckage of the truck. "Just wait."

"I can't hear anything," he protested.

"Shut up!" Steve hissed, and strained to hear the muffled conversation above the gunshots.

**"Well?"**

**"No sign of him. The little runt must have fled. Can't trust the nobility, that's what I always say."**

**"Is it?"**

**"Well yeah. Any idea what happened here?"**

**"Some other company must have attacked. Maybe they got to Alfred first."**

**"These zombies are all over the place. It's crazy."**

**"I know."**

**"So what now?"**

**"We keep looking. Alfred Ashford has the T-Veronica virus, and we're not stopping until we find it."**

**"You know best, sir."**

**"That I do. Have you tried the mansion?"**

**"Not yet."**

**"Then what are you waiting for?"**

Steve looked at Alfred, open-mouthed. "Did you hear that?"

Alfred sighed. "No. I don't think there was anything to hear. This is all a ruse to get me worried."

"Alfred, you should be worried already. These people are from some sort of company, and they're looking for you!"

"Is that right?" he said, yawning.

_Will you listen? They want the T-Veronica virus._

"Good luck to them," he snapped. He rolled his eyes at Steve's shocked expression. "I don't have it. Do you? No. Alexia has it. She can handle these guys easily. I'm not afraid of any company."

Steve bit his lip. "Alfred, I don't think you understand! You aren't surrounded by your troops now! There's nobody left to protect you! You could be in real danger!"

Alfred looked down, and ran a hand through his hair in a futile attempt to dislodge some of the rain. "You'll protect me."

"I won't," Steve growled.

"Why not? Without me, I'd like to see you get off this island alive. You don't know the layout well enough."

"What? You're trying to blackmail me into trusting you?"

"Is that a bad thing? Look, you and I are linked. I don't know why, I don't know how. But we are. And I'm stuck with you, you murdering bastard. So we'll stick together, for now, until we figure out what's going on, and if Alexia's all right, and how your Claire is getting on. I don't want any more arguments, or desertions, or anything like that. Understand?"

"All right." _I hate you._

"The feeling is more than mutual."

_You're despicable._

"Tell me something I don't know."

_You're insane. _

"Get used to it. Now get me past these guards."

---

Steve pushed the gate open cautiously. "There's nobody else here. Come on." He pointed the magnum down the dingy mud corridor to his left; nothing. He strained his ears for the telltale moans of a zombie. _Strange_, he thought. _Those guys must have cleaned this place out._

Alfred snorted derisively. "Well whoopee do. They probably got a flame-thrower and torched the place."

"And you're happy with that?"

"Does it look like I am?" he snapped, jogging a few steps to keep up with Steve. "Do you even know where we're going?"

"Yes," he replied shortly. He stopped outside a door. "Okay, we can go through here. I can't hear anything inside."

"Hmmph. The treatment Alexia used on you must have done this. There's no way you can hear all this stuff."

Steve moved towards the door but Alfred cut him off and went through first. He surveyed the scene around him with distaste. "I never knew my prison was so disgusting. Well, where next?"

_Through the next door. There's a computer. I thought we could use it to send for help._

"Will you stop?!" Alfred howled angrily. 

"You're asking me not to think? A fine bodyguard I'll be then."

"Yes! No! I don't know!" Alfred pushed the next door roughly, sending it flying back into the wall with a bang. He smiled momentarily at this amusing diversion.

"Well done Alfred. That way nobody will know you're here," Steve snapped. "Really make them stop looking for you and fly on home, won't it." 

Alfred grumbled something under his breath.

"I heard that," Steve replied, grinning.

"Ugh!" Alfred whirled round and waved a finger in Steve's face. "Stop hearing things! And stop thinking so loud! Oh man," he said, breaking off. "This is all screwed up. I shouldn't be here, and certainly not with you. I should be sitting in my study, reading, or feeding the ants"

"You keep ants?"

"So?"

"Nothing. An unusual pet, that's all."

"Are you laughing at me?" Alfred snapped. "Forget it, I don't want to know. Just send someone a message for help and let's get out of here." He surveyed the computer with distrust. He glanced at Steve. "Go on then."

"Why can't you?"

"I don't even know how to turn one of these things on. Now get to it," he ordered, pointing authoritatively at the screen.

"You know," Steve said, pressing a couple of keys and bringing up an email window, "you really are a jerk."

Alfred ignored him. "Let's see I know! Send a message to Hunk. He'll get me out of here in no time. Tell him well, make it up as you go along. Make it sound good mind, nothing I wouldn't say." He watched with a troubled expression as Steve began to type, slowly at first, but then with more rapidity as he progressed. 

"How's this?" Steve asked, standing back. Alfred made no reply. "It says To: well, I don't know his email address. Subject: Urgent. Message: Hunk, this is Alfred Ashford. An unknown company has started attacking the base, and I need you and a group of men to come and regain control of Rockfort Island. I will need to be transported to the nearest Umbrella base immediately, along with my bodyguard, as the company appears to be searching for me. Please come as soon as you can. Alfred.' What do you think?"

Alfred shrugged. "It's all right."

"What's Hunk's email address?"

"I don't know. Send it directly to Umbrella, they'll pass it on to him."

"Well, what's Umbrella's email address?" asked Steve, his patience rapidly wearing thin. "Hq@umbrella.com? Veryevilcompany@wekillpeople.com? Give me a clue here!" 

"Oh, I don't know. Umbrella@Umbrella .com, yeah, that's it."

"You sure?" Steve sighed.

"Yeah! Well, kinda"

Steve sagged suddenly. His knees buckled and his vision began to grow cloudy. "What's going on?" he gasped, clutching his chest. He gazed in horror at Alfred, who glared at him as if he were putting on an act. _Alfred! What did you do to me?_

---

She stood in the doorway, smiling at some private joke, waiting for someone to acknowledge her arrival. She stared around at the lavish furnishings, the carved oak and plush velvet furniture. It was exactly like she had imagined it would be. 

"I love it," she breathed.

Footsteps rang on the wooden floor to her right, and she turned to see an aged man approaching her, whom she assumed was the butler, with a mop of grey hair resting jauntily against his head, and a becoming smile.

"Ah, Miss Ashford. Jonathan Hatton, at your service. So pleased you could make it."

"My pleasure," she replied smoothly, shaking his hand. "What a beautiful house," she remarked. "How long have you been in residence here?"

"Oh, ten, twenty years. Something like that," he said, his smile growing broader at the girl's politeness. "Should I take these cases up to your room?"

"Oh, no, that's quite all right. I wouldn't want to inconvenience you. I'll take them myself." She picked her two cases up, barely contained a wince at their weight, and hesitated. "If it's not too much trouble, would you mind telling me which room I will be using?"

The old butler frowned at his lack of courtesy. "I apologise, Miss Ashford. I'll take you there. It's no trouble, none at all."

"Thank you very much. And please, call me Veronica."

---

Alfred trotted through the shadows, his face a picture of determination. Gunshots rang relentlessly in his ears, and cries of wounded men. From somewhere nearby came the unmistakable roar of a Gulp Worm, and the howl of a Bandersnatch.

"Home sweet home," he murmured softly. 

A noise from beyond a door startled him, and he shrunk into the shadows immediately, breathing louder than a herd of elephants, he thought. But somehow his presence was left unnoticed, and a troupe of soldiers all filed past him, obeying some unknown order.

What had happened to his island? One moment a simple island prison, so illegal and unauthorised a law-abiding citizen would wince to hear of it. A minute later it became a madhouse, full of terrible zombies, and weird things that Alfred had never even heard of. Then there was the Tyrant, a true work of genius. But it had died, presumably, unless it had taken a holiday somewhere in the Caribbean. He really did owe a lot to that company whose raid had started the whole thing off, like some dreadful line of toppling dominoes, each one creating a bigger earthquake as it fell. Oh yes. He owed them a hell of a lot.

He sighed, as loudly as he thought he could get away with. If only he had a weapon! He should have taken that Magnum Steve had found somewhere. That boy seemed to have a knack for finding things. It was uncanny. As was his supernatural hearing ability. That was another thing Alfred was unhappy about. If he had the choice between being able to hear quiet things a mile away, or listening to Steve Burnside's thoughts No contest. 

Really, it ought to deafen him. Being able to hear anything, anywhere was that any different from hearing everything, everywhere? But somehow Steve managed to hear only what he wanted to hear. The jerk. 

He looked about thoughtfully. He knew where he was, of course, but he didn't know if he could make it without being caught. Still, you have to take risks. Trusting that Steve had been a big one, and this was another. He slipped through the door, taking care not to let it slam shut behind him, and entered the courtyard.

His face fell as he beheld what remained of his beloved Military Training Facility. Flames flickered in most of the windows, casting an eerie shadow across the dirt courtyard, illuminating strange shapes that could be anything, and creating flickering silhouettes of dead creatures that definitely hadn't been human. 

On the ground in front of him a creature lay still, curled into a ball, its limbs wrapped up so it looked like an overly large appetiser at a party. Scales lined its back, shimmering in the blaze of the fire, in a million shades of purple and red. Alfred pursed his lips, and prodded the prone creature with his boot. It immediately sprawled forwards, limbs outstretched, falling into the mud, sending a spray of ruby red blood in every conceivable direction.

"Oh dear," Alfred whispered, wiping his face to remove the splattered dregs of blood. "I haven't seen you around here before," he said dryly. He turned, anxious to forget the sight, and pressed the elevator call button. "Where could everybody be? Probably at the palace. Prying. Or," he added thoughtfully, "using my casino."

With a whoosh of intricate machinery, the lift doors sprang open, and Alfred hurried inside, arranging himself between the crates. What was inside them anyway? He had no idea.

_Alfred?_

"What the- Steve?" Alfred gasped, taking a precautionary step backwards. 

_Where are you? How could you abandon me like that? I thought we had a deal!_

Alfred winced. Typical. Blame first, ask questions later. "Steve," he said carefully. "Can you hear me? I'm in the lift. I'm going to the airport. Just look at your stupid computer, that'll tell you what's going on. You can't blame me if you go around fainting everywhere."

_I see. But I didn't faint Alfred, honestly I didn't. I had a dream, but I wasn't asleep. I could hear everything around me, but I could still hear what was happening here. I wasn't asleep, I swear! It was real! There was this girl, called_

Alfred started, but said nothing about it. "Look Steve, I'm in a sticky situation here. I can't go around talking to myself, that's a sure-fire way to get myself caught. So keep on thinking, by all means, just don't expect a reply."

The lift stopped, and the doors swung open, with incredible slowness. "Oh, come on," he moaned, desperate. He glanced at his watch, and stepped out of the lift, a slow smile on his face. Ha Veronica was Steve messing about? He must know about Veronica Ashford, and the way he looked up to her. It was one hell of a coincidence, that was for sure.

---

Steve stumbled over to the desk with the computer, clutching onto the metal surface for support. His breathing was heavy and ragged, his hair dishevelled. He glanced at the computer screen with distrust. _I can't believe Alfred just abandoned me. I know he's going to the airport but why?_

A new email had been received, and Alfred had managed to read it, despite his claim that he knew nothing about computers. Steve didn't recognise the email address, but he read it anyway.

"Alfred," he read aloud. "I'll be at Rockfort Island airport at one o clock. Wait for me there, Hunk." Steve raised his eyebrows. "Rather brief," he murmured. He glanced at the clock in the corner of the screen. It was almost one. He must have been knocked out for over two hours He breathed out deeply. "Man"

Suddenly, the breath caught in his throat and his legs swayed beneath him. _Not again_he thought, as the world span and pulsated before his eyes.

Veronica stared into nothingness. A tear rolled down her cheek. "Steve" she whispered. "Tell Alfred and Alexia to come home I want to sing again. And the eagle must fly once more"

Steve's mouth fell open. He realised he was still standing up, and his legs immediately gave way beneath him and he sat down quickly. _That was a new sensation_. It was nothing like the dream he had had before. This time Veronica had been speaking to him directly to him

He scrambled back to his feet and shook his head wildly to dislodge the mental fog that seemed to be blocking all his impulses. He looked back at the clock. It was only a minute since he had last checked. 

_Alfred!_ He almost screamed in his head. _Alfred are you there? Something weird just happened! It was like she was talking to me! She was! She said my name! _

**"You fainted again. Congratulations. Will you stop thinking?! I don't want to get caught! Hunk hasn't shown up yet but he will."**

_Everything went black and Veronica was there, Veronica Ashford! She told me to tell you and Alexia to go home, because she wanted to sing again, or something! I mean it Alfred, it was real._

Silence.

**"Shut up Steve. Just shut up."**

Steve pounded his forehead with his fists. Why wouldn't Alfred believe him? Something terrible was happening to him, and Alfred wouldn't do a damn thing about it. Typical. So bloody typical. 

---

He bounded down from the plane, bursting with youthful energy. A huge sub machine gun was clenched in his fist, and he waved it about as if it were a child's toy. He breathed in thoughtfully as he surveyed the airport, his eyebrows raised quizzically.

His eyes focused on a solitary figure pacing around in frenzy. The man was decked out in some sort of military uniform, his blonde hair slicked back naturally, and his pale blue eyes flashing madly.

"Alfred!" he called, waving an arm in the air. "Hey, Alfred!" A large smile spread across his face, and he hurried towards his old friend with long, loping strides. 

Alfred looked up, and couldn't contain a smile as he beheld the man. "Hunk!" he breathed, sagging slightly with relief. "You finally showed! I'm so glad you're here! Heh, you look a lot different. See you finally decided to shave, then."

Hunk folded his arms and rocked back on his heels. He was a well-built man in his late twenties, with short wiry black hair that was impossible to control, and deep green eyes. "I was on the move when I got your email," he said, grinning. "It's a good job I was so close, or it would have taken me a hell of a lot longer to reach you."

Alfred peered through the gloom behind Hunk. "Is that your plane?"

"Yup," Hunk replied cheerfully, detaching his machine gun and eyeing it thoughtfully. "My personal one. It's not Umbrella's. Like it?"

Alfred nodded vaguely, a frown creasing his forehead. "It's great, but when's everyone else getting here?"

Hunk paused. "Everyone else?"

Alfred shifted uncomfortably. "Well, yeah I said in the email to send a troop of men. There are hundreds of people here, Hunk, I don't know if one man alone can take them on"

Hunk laughed, his deep boom echoing off the walls. "Don't worry, Alfred. I can handle it. You see," he added, with a grin, "when you get a reputation for being the sole survivor of every mission you are sent on, people don't exactly jump at the chance to go with you."

Alfred nodded slowly. "I see."

Hunk grinned nervously. "And that's about it. So let's go kick us some ass. What do you say, boss?" He began to walk away, limping slightly.

Alfred frowned after him. He didn't seem like he was telling the truth But what did it matter? Hunk was here now, with weapons, and he was going to get his island back. To hell with the details. And to hell with Steve Burnside, for that matter.

---

Well, that's it for the first chapter. Coming in the next 'thrilling' instalment... Steve has an unwelcome encounter with the company determined to find the T-Veronica virus, Hunk goes to the rescue, Veronica is evil, and Alfred makes many saracastic comments. Sounds like fun. So please review me, and let me know if I am getting it all wrong. Or right, should the circumstance arise. Go on... tell me what you really think. I dare ya! ^_^


	2. The Intelligent Mr. Walsh and his Missio...

Infinity2

It's been a while, hasn't it. Ah, well. Here's chapter two, people. Enjoy! (And please review. Go on... pretty please? ^_^)

**Infinity**

**By Miss Scarlet**

**Chapter Two: The Intelligent Mr. Walsh and his Mission**

Veronica Ashford watched the coat of arms thoughtfully, as if waiting for the golden bird of prey to leap from its embossed perch. "An eagle," she said to herself. "An eagle No, it shouldn't be an eagle resting, or standing still. The eagle was built for flight and grace, for poetry and dreams. An eagle, with wings outstretched, soaring far above the common people, putting them in their place"

"Miss Ashford!" the old butler called out from the doorway. "My master has expressed a desire to speak with you."

"Oh!" Veronica cast a last longing glance at the silent eagle, and turned to him. "My apologies, Mr Hatton, I was just admiring the coat of arms. May I ask why your master decided to use an eagle?"

Jonathan looked mortified. "He did not create it himself miss, the symbol of the eagle has been in his family for generations!"

Veronica drew in a breath. "I do apologise, sir, please forgive my ignorance. I do not know a thing about lineage, or heraldry. It would mean a great deal to me if somebody could explain a little about it. My mother never got round to telling me about it"

The butler's face softened. "Oh, I'm sorry miss. Please don't be upset. That was tactless, especially with your mother I'm so sorry. If you'd like, I'll go over the basics with you. Would that be acceptable to you, miss?" 

She looked up at him, smiling, a wicked gleam in her eyes. "Oh, yes. I'd like that very much indeed."

---

Steve opened his eyes. It had happened again what was going on? His very mind felt like it had been invaded by an army of hidden dreams and mysterious women, crocodile tears, and beautiful eagles. An invasion of his innermost thoughts, of everything he held dear. His chest had been ripped open, and his heart placed on a display cabinet for Alfred and Veronica Ashford to gawk at. 

No, it was not the most pleasant thing. 

Especially when it happened to you on an island overflowing with hideous creatures and armed soldiers and those psychotic zombies. 

_Claire please let her be all right. I don't care what happens to me, or to Alfred, or whoever the hell else is hanging around here, but just let her be alright. If there is anyone out there, capable of helping her, aside form Alfred, then please save her. Protect her. _

Steve half expected some sarcastic response form Alfred to his outburst, but none came. He just wasn't talking. Maybe he was in trouble. Served him right, really.

Steve wondered briefly if, when he concentrated on someone, he could hear what they were doing. So if he thought about Claire, he could listen to her. If he thought about Veronica, then he would hear what she was doing. 

He could hear voices close by, just like he had when he had overheard the unusual conversation about Alfred and the T-Veronica virus. It was coming from the prison courtyard, he guessed. He strained his ears, which until today he hadn't even known possible, and tried to overhear what they were saying.

**"A plane landed at the airport?"**

**"Yes sir. A small plane, that couldn't carry more than four people. It looked more like a tourist plane. You know, the kind that does sight seeing trips. Should I send some men to investigate?**

**"No, don't bother. They'll turn up eventually. Besides, the zombies will have found them by the time we do. No, we'll just leave them. Let nature take its course," he laughed. **

**"Yes sir."**

**"Any luck at the palace?"**

**"Not yet sir. We have discovered a passageway into some sort of private residence, but the passageway is heavily blocked by rubble. We don't stand a chance of getting through."**

**"Hmm. Luckily for you I know there is a complex sewer system beneath the island. You can probably use that for a way in there. It might not be safe though. Make sure you are all fully armed. I don't want us to suffer any more casualties."**

**"Thank you sir."**

**"But first, come with me. I have a hunch that the prison has not displayed all of its wealth yet."**

**"Excuse me sir?"**

**"It doesn't matter. Follow me."**

Steve raised his eyebrows. They were definitely the same men he had heard before. There was something in the leader's voice, something cold and hard, that made it terrifying to hear. He wished he had a face to go with the terrifying voice.

She was shrouded in darkness; she flaunted it like an ermine robe. Her eyes sparkled malevolently. "Oh, Steve... Where is my dear Alexia? Please, send my children home. Can't you see how lonely I am becoming without them?"

"Damn it!" Steve snarled, punching the air. "Why does she keep doing that?"

His head felt sore and swollen. He leaned gratefully against the wall, closing his eyes, desperate for rest. 

The door suddenly slammed open, crashing back against the door and sending a shudder down Steve's spine. His eyes opened blearily, and he reached his hand out for the Magnum.

"Alfred?" he asked automatically.

It wasn't Alfred.

Two men stood before him, both armed with enhanced handguns and wearing bulky combat clothes. One man stood calmly in the background, his gun pointing confidently at Steve. His eyes were covered with sunglasses, and his curly red hair was covered with a mauve beret.

The man standing closest to Steve, and eyeing him with uncommon keenness, was one of the strongest men Steve had ever seen. His muscles bulged under his muddy military gear, and his mouth was curled into a sneer. His deep brown eyes seemed to shimmer as Steve looked at them. 

It looked like Steve had found the face that went with the voice.

"Oh shit," Steve breathed. 

---

Hunk strode along cheerfully, his gun pointing casually in front of him, his finger resting lightly on the trigger. Alfred slunk along beside him, his face sullen.

Alfred suddenly stopped walking and staggered backwards, gasping for breath. 

Hunk turned and raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "Sir?" he asked, approaching Alfred carefully. "Something wrong?"

Alfred gazed up at him, his face pale. Well, paler than usual, Hunk noted. "Hunk Something's happened to Steve," he muttered.

"Steve would be whom?" Hunk asked, folding his arms and staring evenly at Alfred. "I don't know any Steve."

"Steve is my bodyguard," Alfred replied slowly, his pale eyes narrowing. "I mentioned him in my email, didn't I?"

Hunk glanced upwards. "Yeah, you did. He's doing a mighty fine job, if you don't mind me saying so Alfred. Where the hell is he?"

"I left him in the prison. I thought it would be safer for him there. He's got a gun, after all." He noticed the curious look Hunk was giving him. "He kinda fainted. He's been having problems like that ever since he died," he explained casually, standing up straight

Hunk raised both eyebrows. "He died. Uh huh. Well, I'm not going to pretend that I know what you're talking about, sir. But that's not important. What's happened to him? And how do you know?"

Alfred walked onwards in silence for a while, forcing Hunk to trot to keep up with him. "I think some people from the other company have found him," he admitted finally, staring up at Hunk. "I have a well, a sixth sense, I guess."

"That so. You into that superstition crap then?"

Alfred grinned. "Hell no," he said dryly, and stalked away.

Hunk stared after him, confused. He didn't understand Alfred one bit. But that wasn't the issue here, he decided, and strode after him, his gun trained on the path ahead.

---

She knocked twice on the heavy oak door, listening carefully for a reply. Hatton the butler hovered uncertainly behind her, his face lined with worry. She knew that Hatton's master was not very well, and he probably wouldn't see another summer go by. 

"Come in," croaked a voice from inside uncertainly, his voice muffled by the door to a state of distortion. But perhaps that was how he spoke all the time. 

Veronica pushed the door open cautiously, and stepped inside. The old man was lying in his bed, clothed in thick embroidered robes, his wrinkled face twisted into an expression of agony. She wanted to reach out to him, comfort him, and let him know that someone cared. It would be a lie though. Nobody cared about him. He was dying alone and without an heir, abandoned in a four-poster bed. She wasn't going to go that way. That much was definite. She would live on in the hearts and minds of her descendants, and inspiration to them all

"My, dear, dear child," he croaked, smiling weakly. "How are you feeling? I was so sorry to hear about your mother. Such a sweet woman."

Veronica scowled at his insensitivity, and quickly replaced it with a small smile. "I am coping as well as could be expected. Thank you for enquiring."

He smiled at her warmly, his eyes never leaving hers. Veronica didn't look at him. It was such a shock to see how this man had aged. Just a few years ago he had been a benevolent pillar in her life, a person to look up to. Rich, respected, living in splendour. But everyone has to grow old some time. 

He had been a close friend of her grandmothers and, Veronica suspected, a lover too. But they had gone their separate ways, and instead of drifting away from the family, he had stayed close, lending financial support through the rough times, and being a more dependable father figure for Veronica's mother than her own father. 

And now he was dying. So after Veronica's mother died he had insisted that she come and stay with him, and give him a little company to live out his last days. Veronica shifted uncomfortably, and the old man indicated a chair by his bed. She sat down gratefully, and smiled nervously. 

"My dear Veronica I am growing old."

Veronica looked at him properly, his blazing green eyes finally meeting hers. "Yes," she replied, uncertain how to respond to such a remark.

"I must make precautions. I don't want my precious estate to fall into the wrong hands, or to some dimwit relative I have never met. Do you understand, my dear?"

"I think so."

"I am asking for permission to adopt you."

"Adopt me?" she asked, shocked. "But sir!"

"No, no, don't argue until I have had chance to explain." He leant back on the pillow, breathing heavily. "You are the dearest thing in the world to me I want to make us both happy in the inevitable event of my death You can retain your own name Ashford And the estate will, in time, belong to you. You will have complete freedom to do as you please"

Veronica's eyes sparkled. "I would love that dearly. It is so kind of you to even consider such an offer."

"Hush!" he hissed, flapping a withered arm at her. "Don't thank me. Will you permit this? Would you consider becoming my daughter, if only for a short while?"

"It would be the greatest gift anybody could give to me father." Veronica smiled, her eyes gleaming. This was indeed a stroke of luck.

---

So, Steve reflected thoughtfully, rubbing furiously at his eyes. So that was how the Ashford legend had begun. Some old guy on the verge of death looking to continue his bloodline. Not quite as glamorous as he had always expected. He wondered briefly if Alfred knew, and made a point to bring it up with him later. Right now he had more important things to worry about.

One of the two men, the weaker looking one with curly red hair was leaning over him, and the expression on his face reminded Steve greatly of a pig with a bee up its nose.

"Oh, you decided to join us in the world of the living," he sneered, looking up at his boss for confirmation.

The larger man strode over and looked down at Steve, his huge lip curling in disgust. "Be a man," he growled. "For Christ's sake. What the fuck did ya faint for?"

"Long story," Steve replied quietly, his voice sounding unusually frail. "Don't think you'd have the mental capacity to understand it."

The big man laughed. "Oh, a comedian. What luck." He leaned forwards again, his face expressionless. "Where is Alfred?" he asked.

"Who?" Steve replied, shrugging. "Seeing as I don't know who you mean, he could be anywhere. He could even be dead. How should I know?"

"Mr Walsh, sir, who is this boy?" the smaller man asked.

Walsh shrugged, his overly large muscles rippling under his shirt. "Maybe one of those tourists from the plane." He grinned. "But, kid, we know that you know where Alfred Ashford is. You said his name when we came in," he growled. "So you really don't have a leg to stand on."

Steve smiled weakly. "Oh, you noticed? I'm impressed. Your ears are actually connected to your brain, then?"

Walsh, if that really was his name, was about to reply, when a horribly familiar sound burst from the passageway.

"Please deposit any metallic items you have in the security box."

There was dead silence. Steve groaned quietly. _Stupid, stupid, stupid_, he thought furiously. _Alfred is gonna get himself killed!_

The smaller guy stood up and held his gun out, an awful grin spreading across his face. "Looks like we got us some company," he sneered.

Walsh nodded. "The bait caught the fish," he said, with a wink at Steve.

"Screw that," Alfred's voice sounded suddenly. "I have metal buttons on, and I'm not going butt naked." There was a whirring sound, and some lights flickered.

_Alfred must have powered down the metal detector,_ Steve realised with horror. _After all, he owns the place; he probably knows how to get past every obstacle, although he doesn't show it that often. Heh most of the time he acts like a headless chicken._

Steve looked around for his Magnum, now that the two men had their full attention on the door through which Alfred would surely emerge. He spotted it eventually, lying forgotten underneath the desk. It would be impossible for him to crawl to the other side of the room without them noticing. His heart fell. _Alfred is gonna get himself killed, and then they'll kill me and then they'll, oh, I don't know, kill everyone else on this stupid island. Why can't anything go right? _he reflected bitterly. _Why can't my gun be close by, so I could save Alfred? Why am I bothered? _he asked himself. _"Why am I so bothered if Alfred lives or dies?_

_Because he is my friend, of a sort. _

Alfred wandered casually through the door. His face didn't register any surprise when he saw the two armed men in front of him, likewise when he noticed Steve lying on the floor.

"We've got you now, Ashford," Walsh growled, waving the gun menacingly.

"Oh, well done," Alfred sighed sarcastically. "What do you want, a medal? And I made it so difficult for you as well. I'm impressed."

The smaller guy moved forwards with a growl, evidently planning to do something to Alfred that involved his gun, Alfred's head, and a lot of blood.

"Leave it," Walsh warned, cutting him off. "Hand over the T-Veronica virus," he barked to Alfred. "Hand it over now and we'll spare your friend."

Alfred patted his pockets with mock anxiety. "Oh, gee, did I leave it in my other trousers? I'd forget my own head if it weren't screwed on."

"Are you saying you don't have it?" Walsh asked calmly, his gun so close to Alfred's head that it was almost touching. There was a long silence.

Alfred looked at him thoughtfully. "Well yeah, guess I am." He smiled. "I know where it is though. It's on the printing desk through this door. Good hiding place, don't you think?" He watched as his statement sunk in.

"I'll get it," Walsh growled to his companion.

The young redhead nodded obediently, and he trained his handgun on Alfred's head. He waved the gun, indicating Alfred to move aside. Alfred did so, surprisingly complacent, his eyes downcast yet his mouth twisted into a smile.

Walsh barged through the doorway and slammed the door behind him. Alfred tutted quietly. The redhead frowned.

"Shut up," he snapped at Alfred, and risked a glance at Steve, still sitting motionless against the wall, his head resting on his knees.

The door opened behind them. The redhead turned around, forgetting Steve and Alfred, surprised at the intrusion.

Hunk stood in the doorway, smiling thoughtfully, the beginnings of a frown etched into his forehead. Before the redhead could react, Hunk raised his sub-machine gun and fired sixteen shots into the man's chest in quick succession, each bullet sending the man skidding further backwards, until his lifeless body slumped against the wall, outlined in blood.

Hunk lowered the gun. "Hmm," he muttered. "Gory."

---

And it's all over, folks. Sorry about that rather hurried shooting scene with Hunk. I'm no expert on weaponry, you know... Tune in soon for Chapter Three. I guarantee that it will have even more Veronica, Hunk explaining the truth behind his mission, Alfred's insanity catching up with him, and that evil Walsh getting his revenge 

You won't want to miss it. (Right? I'm not above bribery, you know.) So tell me what you think, and what you want to happen; End it! End it now!' And just how much you wish I would finish this stupid thing. See you around!


	3. Showdown in the Sewers

Infinity

**Infinity**

**By Miss Scarlet**

**Chapter Three: Showdown in the Sewers**

There was silence, but only for a moment. Steve let out a burst of triumphant laughter, and scrambled to his feet, diving for the Magnum below the bench. Alfred grinned, his insensitive front forgotten for a moment. Hunk just watched; his big eyebrows raised in an expression of mild curiosity. 

Steve stood, and stared at Alfred. And for a moment, they were of the same mind. Somewhere they could hear the metal detector blaring as Walsh made his escape, but they didn't notice.

"Alfred!" Steve laughed, brushing the loose strands of hair out of his eyes. "You came back for me!"

Alfred smiled knowingly. "Of course I did!" he replied with mock outrage. "Did you think I would leave you in the care of Dumb and Dumber? Heh nah, I wouldn't do that."

There was an awkward silence. Steve looked like he was about to burst with repressed thoughts, and his smile broadened. "Thanks, man. You're a pal, you know that? I owe you one. And don't worry, I'll get it right this time."

"No more fainting?"

"If I can help it," Steve grinned. He turned to Hunk. "Are you Hunk? I owe you one, too. Thanks."

Hunk nodded. "You must be the infamous bodyguard, Steve. Not quite what I expected."

"Neither are you!" Steve joked, his eyes twinkling happily. "You guys are the best."

Alfred couldn't help but smile; Steve's cheerfulness was strangely infective. He rubbed the back of his head with a mildly embarrassed smile. "It was nothing," he said. "And I've chosen a fine time to become the modest hero. Ah well what now?"

"What do you mean?" asked the still-exuberant Steve.

"I suggest we head for the plane," Hunk interjected thoughtfully. "We are far too ill-equipped to take on any more of the men from the company. We should regroup on the mainland and assess our supplies."

Steve snorted. "I don't understand a word of that. Military jargon is beyond me."

"It's hardly military jargon," Hunk began sheepishly, rather affronted by the boy's honesty. "But we should go straight to the airport. The best thing we can do is get off this island."

"I agree," Alfred said, nodding. "I can't stand wandering around without a gun. It's like I'm being left out" he trailed off and glanced at Steve, who had gone immensely pale. "Steve? You all right? You're not going to faint again, aren't you?"

Steve made a half-hearted motion with his shoulders, and clutched at his chest. "Don't leave me again Alfred" he gasped, as he crumpled to the floor.

---

Veronica beamed. She climbed easily up the winding staircase, her soul light and happy. Now it was all hers! This estate, the noble name, the family history, the coat of arms it would need some modification, but it would do, for now. She felt so happy she could burst, and her happiness would float down like feathers onto the people below. Only they didn't deserve a shred of Veronica's happiness. They scurried about like ants, each frantically trying to make a living, and get a good job but for what? They retire and then they die. It's no life for anyone who truly understands the world around her. 

"There was a friendly but naïve King" she sang quietly as she surveyed the grounds below her in all their splendour.

"Who wed a very nasty Queen

The King was loved but the Queen was feared.

Til one day strolling in his court

An arrow pierced the kind King's heart.

He lost his life and his lady love"

She broke off, and gazed across the horizon hungrily. "Berceuse" she whispered. "A tragic tale of the gullible old man who takes a girl under his wing only death can follow"

Jonathan Hatton appeared at her shoulder, with a curiosity unbecoming of anyone. "What was that you were singing, Miss Ashford?"

"An old song my mother used to sing to me as a child. A lullaby. Berceuse, it's called."

"It's a very beautiful song, miss," he said slowly, smiling weakly.

She watched him closely. "Don't be disheartened. It must be the end of an era for you. But from the end or an era must spring the beginning of a new one. I shall treat you well. Ahh the eagle will fly again."

"Excuse me miss? Only I don't think I understand what you are saying."

"I don't expect you to. But now I am truly free, like an eagle. So it must fly. And this is an important day. It is the day I come into my own now you might accuse me of being insensitive, what with my father passing away but look to the future. I will create a masterpiece."

"Like a painting, miss?" he asked, scratching his head.

"Almost. In years to come, my name will be a blessing. My descendants will worship me. Yes, I owe a lot to my father But now I am free. I am free of him, and my real family, and the responsibility that comes from being poor. It is the start of my reign I will be a very good queen"

---

Alfred yawned. He stared morosely at Steve's still form, and tapped his foot steadily against the floor. "Come on don't keep me waiting much longer Steve"

Steve's eyes immediately flicked open, as if he had heard Alfred's request. When he saw Alfred he broke into a grin. "Alfred! You're still here!" he sighed gratefully.

"You sound like you don't trust me," Alfred sniffed, a small smile playing across his features. "You should know better by now."

Steve dragged himself into a sitting position, and rubbed his eyes. "I'm really grateful Alfred. I feel like I can rely on you. And I never thought I'd hear myself saying that," he laughed, with a sideways glance at Alfred. "Where's Hunk?"

"Outside," Alfred replied with a shrug. "He got bored. As did I, actually."

"Oh, come on! I wasn't out cold for that long, surely. No, forget it, I don't want to know. I'd only depress myself." He got to his feet slowly, rubbing his back. "All this fainting – if it goes on much longer I'm gonna get a bad back."

Alfred smiled. "Old before your time."

"Right," Steve agreed. "You know, I just thought about this. I mean, our situation."

"That's nice," Alfred said, his voice thick with sarcasm.

"No, no, don't joke. I just think well, we're friends, right? And when we get off this island, things are gonna stay that way."

"They are?" Alfred asked, moderately shocked. He scratched his head. "I guess you're right. I never really about it. I had other things on my mind."

"Well, if you had spent as much time in the land of nod as I did, you would have had time to think about it too. Hell, I was halfway to realising the meaning of life!"

Alfred laughed, but stopped when Steve blanched and clutched his sides. "Not again, surely!" he exclaimed, and rushed forwards to Steve's aid. Alfred caught him as he fell, Steve's face as white as a sheet. Alfred's screwed up in concentration. 

"You weigh far too much" Alfred groaned as Steve slipped into unconsciousness. 

Veronica thrust her arms into the air impatiently. "Don't keep me waiting! What can be taking you so long? I have cried for years cried in the hope that one day someone would be able to hear me I don't want to have wasted those tears, Steve. I need Alfred, and Alexia. Send them home! Where are my children?"

Alfred almost dropped Steve in shock. "What the hell was that? I heard that!" he cried, pointing at Steve accusingly. "That was Veronica!" he quailed, his voice rapidly becoming high and uncontrollable. "So it was true"

Steve stared blearily at Alfred from his resting place on the floor. "Thanks a lot man. Drop me, why don't ya. Really appreciate it." He trailed off, staring at Alfred's face. "What's the matter? Don't freak out on me."

Alfred backed off, one quivering finger still pointing at Steve. "Veronica is speaking to you! She wants me, she needs me!" He stopped suddenly, his mouth hanging open. "I have to I have to go the sewers Veronica, she's in the mansion. I have to go to her. I can't let my ancestors wait any longer. Veronica I'm coming!" He turned on his heel and scampered out through the door, past the bloody corpse of the read-headed man lying forlornly on the floor.

Steve didn't have time to open his mouth and voice an objection before Alfred had vanished. "Hunk!" Steve yelled, scrambling to his feet. "Hunk, get in here! We have to get to the sewers – Alfred's gone!"

---

The sewers were just like any other sewers. Dank, dirty, grimy, wet, cold, miserable places. The long passageway seemed to stretch on for miles, just one long disgusting tunnel of dirt. Steve wouldn't say he was squeamish, but you had to draw the line somewhere.

The smell was indescribably bad. It almost took on a life of its own; spreading invisible clinging tendrils of the stench and smothering you until you struggle to breathe. It was a tangible smell, the result of years of the grime and dirt of the prison being dumped there. _Of course_, Steve reflected grimly, _it's not like they have a sewer maintenance committee._ A mental image suddenly sprang to his mind of Alfred in orange overalls and clutching a shovel, wading through the filth, and Steve couldn't repress a smile.

Hunk followed easily, swinging down into the knee-deep sludge, treating it with complete indifference as if he was prancing through a field of flowers. The gun was strapped to his back again, to avoid bringing it into contact with anything in the sewers. Hunk was unusually picky about the condition of his weapons.

Something splashed into the water a few feet away from Hunk, but he didn't even bat an eyelid. Instead, he eyed Steve thoughtfully.

"You aren't gonna collapse on me, I hope," he said amiably, absent-mindedly jamming his hand through his hair. "Because you could drown," he added, as an afterthought.

Steve stared at the water with loathing. It had seeped into his shoes, and his trousers were already saturated. He sighed. "I hope not," he muttered angrily. "Why the hell did Alfred have to use the sewers? Could he not have found a more hygienic hidden passage?"

Hunk laughed softly. "Carry on talking like that and people are gonna think you're a sissy." He grinned lazily, running the idea over in his mind. "Come on then," he said after a while, rubbing his hands together briskly. "Let's get going. Something tells me Alfred isn't gonna wait for us to catch up, if you know what I mean."

Steve nodded glumly, and began to wade through the slimy water. _What on earth possesses people to use sewers as thoroughfares?_ he asked himself bitterly. _Would a road be too much to ask? An underground passage? An underwater passage? Hell, anything would be better than this._

"Why do you keep fainting anyway? Alfred said it had something to do with you being dead. I just assumed he was off his rocker," he laughed, glancing at Steve, as if worried that Steve would faint again. "I'm not sure what he meant, the old bat."

"Yeah, I was dead," Steve replied, with a shrug. "So was he. I killed him, actually, and his sister killed me. Long story," he added, noticing Hunk's incredulous expression. "But I think we understand each other more now. I think I don't know. I thought he trusted me."

"Uh huh," Hunk replied uneasily. "Well, it takes all sorts. I'm not even going to bother trying to understand you two. It would give me a migraine." 

They walked in companionable silence for some time; both trudging steadily along the sewers, Hunk with casual ease, Steve with his face screwed up in effort and concentration. 

"Uh Steve?" Hunk asked after a while, a puzzled frown resting on his vast forehead. "You noticed that there haven't been any you know zombies around? I thought you said the place was teeming with them, only I haven't seen any. Isn't that a little odd?"

Steve thought. _That's right I haven't seen any monsters at all. This company must be really efficient_ "You're right," he said. "The company have really cleaned this place out. And I wish I meant that literally," he added miserably.

Hunk laughed heartily. "It's just a bit of dirt, kid, it'll wash out. I'm a little disappointed, I suppose. I had a laugh with the undead last time, I was looking forward to more of the same."

"Last time?" Steve asked, picking his way past an unidentifiable lump floating in the water. "There was a last time?"

"Long story," he grinned. "Not one I like to discuss, if you know what I mean." Hunk grimaced. "I saw some pretty heavy shit."

Steve smiled gently; unsure whether Hunk was being entirely serious. He was in an unusually reflective mood, and was frowning again, so Steve quickly let the smile drop. "There's something I meant to ask you," he said thoughtfully.

"Shoot," Hunk said. "Nothing too personal, mind," he grinned, giving Steve playful thump on the shoulder and sending him skidding forwards a few paces.

"Where are all your team-mates? Umbrella would never send you on a mission on your own; they're too precise, too orderly. They don't like to take risks. So why did they send you on your own? Surely they have no shortage of operatives."

Hunk scratched the back of his head. "Um yeah, sure. Nobody wanted to come with me, see, because of my reputation. They were scared, kinda like how you are about this muck."

Steve narrowed his eyes. "Don't give me that reputation' shit, Hunk! Alfred may believe it but I certainly don't. So tell me what really happened when I sent you that email."

Hunk stayed silent for some time, his eyes downcast. Eventually, he sighed. "Alright kid, I'll tell ya. When I got your email, I was on the move, like I told Alfred. Umbrella didn't read it and sent it straight on to me, which was surprising. I guess they trusted me enough. Anyway, I telephoned Head Office and asked for some men to take with me. They uh they said no."

Steve said nothing. Hunk seemed incredibly nervous, and he constantly wrung his hands together. Whatever he was about to admit to, it was important.

"I asked why, and they said they couldn't spare any men for trivial missions like that. Well, uh, that was a shock. I didn't think the whole training facility and the prison were particularly trivial, if you see what I mean. Anyway, I told them that I'd go on my own, and I wouldn't cause any trouble. I thought they could spare one man but they said that all their planes were in use, and they couldn't spare any weapons for me. I suppose they thought that would put me off. 

"I knew that was a lie. Since when are all Umbrella's facilities in use? It was impossible. I told Head Office that I would use my own plane, and that I could bring my own weapons, and still they said no. By this point I was getting severely pissed off, as you can imagine. And I asked them why they were so against me going to help Alfred, and they said some crap about him not being essential to Umbrella functioning correctly, whatever that meant.

"So I told them where to go, and said I'd go help Alfred anyway. I mean, he's I've known him for ages. He's a friend. I just wouldn't do that to him. We'd been through a lot together, and you don't ignore pleas for help like that."

"And what did Umbrella say?" Steve prompted, uncomfortable. _I thought Alfred was my friend and I guess I feel pretty betrayed. But Hunk has known him for years he must be devastated. He doesn't show it, mind that's how I should be behaving. Alfred why did you do this to us?_

"Umbrella said that if I went to Rockfort Island I could forget about coming back," he said quietly, with a sideways glance at Steve. "It was an ultimatum. A threat. And if there's one thing I can't stand, it's threats," he growled. "Then they said that if I went Umbrella would consider me an enemy of the company, and I'm sure you know what that means."

Steve gasped. He knew what that meant. They'd send people out hunting him; they would order his death. He would be watched, just like Umbrella had watched Chris Redfield. _He would become a fugitive all because of friendship, and loyalty. All because of Alfred._

"So I basically told them to go screw themselves," he said, with a nervous laugh. "I told them that their stinking job could go to hell, and I was going to save Alfred. So, I guess I'm out of a job right now." He laughed, but his eyes were sad. "I always liked working for Umbrella. I just didn't know they were so cold. Actually, I'm surprised they haven't sent troops out to the island yet, to intercept me. But they would probably consider that to be helping Alfred, so that's pretty much out of the question," he growled. "Shit!" he suddenly snapped, thumping the wet stone of the wall. 

"I understand," Steve said quietly. "So now what? What are you going to do with yourself? Get revenge on Umbrella?"

Hunk stared at him. "I'm sure you do, kid, I'm sure you do. But I'm not going to go around doing something stupid like getting revenge. I'm not that sort of guy. No, I've kept my options open. I've had offers, over time, from other companies. Hell, I've probably had one from the guys upstairs," he said, gesturing upwards. "I'll check a few of them out. HCF are supposed to be pretty good."

"You seem to know what you're talking about," Steve conceded, with a shrug. "I wouldn't fancy working alongside Walshy-boy up there though."

Hunk laughed, his deep voice resonating throughout the sewer. "I hear ya kid. I hear ya. Nobody would blame you for that sentiment." Hunk stopped walking. "What was that noise?"

Steve shrugged. "Someone's footsteps. Whoever it was, they were of above average size. Heavy tread, probably a male. Approaching rapidly from behind us."

Hunk stared at him. "That's some hearing you got there, kid. I'm impressed. I just heard a few splashes."

Steve grinned. "It's a side effect of being dead," he said, his smile growing. "I think it could be Walsh. He fits the description. He must be pretty hacked off about that soldier of his. You should probably get that gun of yours ready for some action."

"Big freak. Shouldn't be holding my friends hostage then, should he." Hunk said, shrugging. "So Steve, you still got that Magnum?"

"Uh yeah," Steve said, not concentrating. Hunk had just called him his friend in an absent-minded way. _What did that mean? Probably nothing but it made a change_. He grasped the handle of his Magnum and pulled it out from its resting-place in his waistband. "Yeah, I got it."

They both stood still, guns at the ready, listening to the footsteps that even Hunk could hear clearly. Steve bit his lip. _With each moment we spend here, Alfred gets further away. I wish I knew what he was going to do It has something to do with Veronica oh, don't do anything stupid, Alfred Don't do anything I wouldn't do!_ He realised the slim chances of that happening and almost smiled. The footsteps grew louder still.

"Come on," Hunk murmured. "Don't keep me waiting" He rocked from side to side slightly, shifting his weight with impatience.

The tension was unbearable. 

Eventually, a lone figure appeared, standing forlornly in front of them, a pistol clutched in his fist. He was breathing heavily, and with the other hand he steadied himself against the wall. It was Walsh. His brown eyes were flashing madly, catching the glow from the lamp in its bracket nearby and gleaming wickedly. 

Hunk backed away a few steps, and gestured for Steve to do the same. Walsh was advancing steadily, his gun raised; his lips still twisted into a sneer. 

Steve's foot struck something soft and slippery; his legs shot from underneath him and he sprawled backwards into the water. He thrashed wildly as the disgusting slime invaded his nostrils and his mouth, overwhelming him with nausea. He fought his way to the surface and pulled himself into a sitting position, spitting water frantically in an attempt to dispose of the foul liquid. 

Walsh's gun was pointing directly at his face, no more than a foot away. Steve brought his Magnum up to meet it in a split second, praying silently that it's brief trip underwater hadn't ruined any of the mechanisms. 

Steve blinked. _God, this scene looks familiar_

Steve slid to a halt beneath Alfred, his gun raised. For a moment they both stared at each other, their faces not masking their obvious hatred.

Then there was a single second that seemed to last for a lifetime. They both realised at exactly the same time, that one, or both of them were about to die. 

Steve fired. He wasn't going to take that risk.

His breath caught in his throat, and his finger found the trigger. But it was far too late. Walsh fired twice in quick succession, and Steve gave a horrified gasp before falling clumsily into the water, his gun firing once before it too was submerged.

Hunk sprang into action, motivated by shock, and let loose a spray of bullets into Walsh's heaving body, screaming a formidable cry of rage as he did so. His mind was numb, he couldn't even see Steve although his eyes scanned the surface constantly, and he kept on firing. 

Walsh was thrown backwards, releasing a torrent of crimson blood that seeped into the water, turning the murky brown of the sewage into a terrible cloudy red. 

Silence fell. Hunk lowered the gun, stunned. He rushed forwards, his heart leaden, his every step taking an eternity. 

He fell to his knees, and fumbled blindly beneath the water, until at last his frantic hands found Steve's shoulders, and he hoisted Steve out of the water with a desperate moan of sorrow. "Steve?" he asked, shaking the boy desperately. 

Hunk stared at his limp body, his eyes open wide and glazed, his mouth closed firmly, a neat little line of determination, his chest too still for breath.

Steve was dead.

Hunk's eyes burned. His hands shook. His mouth went sickeningly dry. "Oh, God" he whispered, his voice offering a silent prayer to whoever and wherever he thought Steve could be. "Oh, dear God" He realised far too late that he should have protected him, he should have shot Walsh before that stupid stand off could have come about.

"No" he sobbed, hauling Steve further out of the water, with each breath a new sob racking his body. "No Oh, God, Steve I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking sorry" And he cried, knowing he shouldn't, wishing he wouldn't, and hurting more than ever before.

---

Alfred stared uneasily at the ladder. It was badly rusted and all that was holding it to the wall was a flimsy looking bracket. He gingerly placed a hand on the nearest rung, and was not at all surprised when it let out an ominous creak – the sound of ancient metal under strain. 

Nonetheless, he placed one foot on the bottom rung, braced himself, and scampered up the ladder as quickly as he could manage. Under normal circumstances he would not even consider such a thing, but he was not under normal circumstances, and he knew that more than anyone.

He scrambled off the ladder with as much dignity as he could muster, and sat for a moment on the cold grass, catching his breath. Above him the branches of an old oak tree swayed in the wind, and Alfred stared at them gloomily. He let his gaze fall to the mansion, the huge towering building where he had spent his childhood, and for a moment he thought it was floating. 

A mass of grey completely covered the lower level of the ancient house, and stopped at about head height. Alfred frowned; the mass of grey was _moving_. 

As he watched, the mass became a horde of almost identical bodies. Then it hit him; the palace was completely surrounded by zombies. Hundreds of them, faceless shells of people, all surging forwards, pressing their decaying bodies against the windows and the bricks, constantly trying to get inside. Whatever lay in there – the zombies wanted it. Alfred knew what was in there. _Veronica_. 

He watched them, in their futile attempt to break in. They used none of the force Alfred knew that they had; they treated the building with something bordering on reverence. _So Veronica is controlling them, even through death. All the zombies on the island must be here. Christ I didn't know there were so many. _

So now what? He couldn't exactly stroll in through the front door, not without being completely torn to pieces by the zombies, which was certainly not the most desirable option. He decided to act on an impulse, something he rarely did.

He stood up, dusted his uniform off until it looked mildly presentable, and walked forwards. His heart was beating like a drum, his blood pounded in his ears, and the result was such a deafening cacophony to him that he was sure the zombies must have heard it. 

As he approached the zombies, his fists clenched by his sides, a low murmur of recognition started up as the first zombies noticed him. The murmur spread, growing in volume and intensity as hundreds of misshapen mouths gibbered senselessly to themselves and each other. 

Alfred started to shake as he drew closer, the inquisitive faces of the zombies only a few feet away from him. _This is a mistake_, he suddenly realised_. Veronica won't protect me and any second now one of them is gonna lunge_

The crowds parted.

In one complex movement, the zombies in front of him wheeled to the side, as graceful as swans, clearing a muddy passageway leading up to the double doors. A ghastly ceremonial guard_. So Veronica protected me after all,_ Alfred thought, his heart filling with a twisted pride. _At least she thinks I'm worth protecting. _

He made his way carefully along the passage of zombies, keeping his eyes fixed on the door, knowing that if he looked at the zombies properly, and saw how close they were to him, he would have screamed and ran away. He reached out his hands for the cool reassuring wood; all too aware of the many pairs of eyes focussed on him. 

He opened the door, relieved beyond comprehension, and hurried through. Stairs to the basement. Where were they? To the right. His thought processes became condensed as he sensed the reality of what he was about to do. To finally do something he had dreamed about since childhood, something he had never thought possible. It all seemed unreal, like a fantastical fairytale. 

He slid behind the ancient bookshelves, smelling must and dry paper. He walked in a daze, oblivious to the moaning of the zombies as they crashed back against the door and resumed their battering. His brain seemed frozen with anticipation, and he hurried down the stairs, his feet never slipping on the cold stone steps. 

_Alfred Don't do anything I wouldn't do!_

Alfred jerked upright, the fog immediately clearing from his mind. "Steve?" he whispered, his voice barely more than a whisper. "God Steve I totally zoned out there. Heh don't know what came over me. I can't believe I just walked past all those zombies – Hunk wouldn't have let me do that. He'd have shot them all. And you would have suggested an alternative route. Had me climb one of those trees and break in through a window heh I suppose I just thought that Veronica wouldn't let me die; she needs me."

_She needs you? Or does she need that potion tucked into your pocket? _A voice in Alfred's head crowed. _You're being a damn fool, Alfred. You should have gone with Steve and Hunk and got on that plane. You should be on it now, leaving this island for good._

"Steve, that's not you, is it? No, it can't be. Even you don't talk about yourself in third person." He sighed morosely and continued down the stairs. "I don't know who you are, maybe it's just me, maybe I have split personalities, I don't know. But I have to do this. This is what I was born for. This is my destiny, I can feel it."

_Wouldn't you love to turn round and spit in the face of destiny? And fate? Don't you have any free will? It's your choice, Alfred. It's up to you. Not her._

Alfred frowned. "I want to do it. It would save our family. A- Alexia? Is that you? It sounds like you. That's just how you always used to speak to me you told me I could achieve greatness by myself, and by doing whatever I pleased. But it's gone too far, Alexia, things have gone past the point where they can be easily recovered."

_Then let them die, Alfred. I did. Everything dies. I know I never used to say these things to you. Just Glory to the Ashfords!' and things like that. But she's dead. Start again! I realise now what we should have done, and I will not let you fade away like this. Your whole life is ahead of you, don't let Veronica steal your freedom. She'll use you as the public face for her actions; she'll let you take any blame. Let her stay dead, brother. You deserve a decent life. Don't be fazed by our history, because history belongs in the past._

"I'm not sure I understand you, Alexia. But I feel better knowing you are by my side. I grew weary of being alone."

_You were never alone, Alfred. You had me, you had Hunk, and you had Steve. Don't waste this opportunity to have the life you deserve. If you bring Veronica back to life history will repeat itself. Like an everlasting loop. From Veronica to you, eventually. But you will be bypassed and the legacy will be passed on to her. It is an injustice I would rather not see you suffer._

Alfred sighed miserably, torn between his honoured ancestor and his sister. "I know Alexia, I know. It's just that I can't cope. Everything is going wrong for me and for the Ashfords and there is nothing I can do about it. There are rival companies out for my blood, and Umbrella only sends one man to my aid. The competition is fierce, and the money's running out. I don't know what to do so I'm going to take the easy way out. The cowards way. Because that's what I am, Alexia."

Alexia did not reply to his confession, so Alfred hurried down the final steps and reached the basement. It was dark, and impossible to see anything more than a few feet away, but the open coffin on the other side of the basement glowed with some sort of iridescent light. "Veronica" he breathed, his body filled with an untouchable fear. 

As he drew closer he could make out the outline of her silent body, the chalk white of her face. Her mouth was turned upwards into a triumphant smile, her elegant eyebrows raised. Her eyes were closed, Alfred noticed with relief. He didn't think he could cope, if those intense blue eyes had been watching him. He reached out a trembling hand, and softly touched her skin, as if he could scarcely believe she was really there.

"Why are you still so beautiful, hundreds of years after your death? It is not possible, surely. But you always made a point of achieving the impossible. And those zombies you are so powerful, even in death. I could never aspire to even come close to your greatness."

He fumbled around in his pocket, and his shaking fingers eventually closed on the tiny glass tube of liquid. He watched it, as the strange liquid ran from one side of the tube to the other like a creature on the rampage, dying to be freed. 

He pulled out the bung, and tugged carefully on Veronica's chin until her immaculate lips parted. He steadied his grip, and slowly raised the test-tube up to her mouth. 

Footsteps on the stairs interrupted him. Heavy, mournful footsteps. Alfred panicked, and jerked his hand away from Veronica, like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. A figure appeared at the base of the steps, a black outline in the darkness. 

It was Hunk. "Alfred. We've got a problem." He was carrying Steve's body in his arms. Alfred gasped, as he beheld the awful truth. Hunk continued in his monotonous tone; "Steve is dead."

---

Did you all recognise that song Veronica was singing? I love it. If you do recognise it, scribble it in a review and let me know. I'll oh, I don't know, give you a mention in my next chapter. (Um yay?) Unfortunately for some, not so unfortunately for others, it's still not over. I have one more chapter left up my sleeve, ready to whip out and surprise you. Or then again, maybe not. Big thanks to all my excellent reviewers – it takes a really good review to motivate me enough to put up another chapter. (No, that's not a bribe. Honest! Although laughs evilly if anyone's interested) So, in the next chapter, Alfred has a _big_ decision to make, Steve and Alexia have a nasty argument (don't ask how I made _that_ one possible) and I wind everything up. Kinda. Keep checking back for the next chapter, or review me to hurry me along a bit. What can I say – I'm lazy. 

Thanks for reading!


	4. Confronting the Shadow

Infinity

By Miss Scarlet

Chapter Four: Confronting the Shadow

Steve. You still look so alive. Your mouth, see, it's got that stubborn look to it. Like when you were arguing with me that time, and you made your mouth go exactly like that. And your eyes they've lost that twinkle that I never really noticed until now, when it's gone. You had so much energy; you were always so light-hearted. God, I shouldn't have left you two. We would be on that plane right now, ready to take on the world. Or whatever. 

I know I never really got to know you And I don't know how we managed to become so close in such a short time. You're just so trusting, and friendly. I've never known anyone like you before. Everyone I knew always treated me like I was about to explode, you know? But not you. You just said what you meant. Honesty. It's a pretty rare trait, nowadays. Nobody else was ever like that with me. Except maybe Hunk. And Alexia, of course. 

I was so, so foolish. I knew you would try to stop me if I told you what I planned. Resurrect Veronica? What the hell for? And I don't think I could explain it to you. I don't know if my sad tale of strain and weakness could mean anything to someone like you. You only act on strong, noble feelings like courage and love, when I am nothing more than a coward. 

I can't believe I let Walsh get away that time. I should have come armed, and blown his fucking head off. I deserve to be hung for this betrayal. That's what used to happen in my family. My family Steve, you have to understand me. I have grown up knowing nothing but my ancestors and my family, and the proud, glorious name of the Ashford's. I never knew true friendship, or trust, or even respect. Except with Alexia. And she's dead, just like you, just like Veronica.

I am surrounded by death. Perhaps Death is getting inaccurate in his old age, and he struck everyone around me down whilst aiming for me. But Alexia is right, though. Fate is not something I truly believe in. And what is fate now? Now I hold this potion in my hand, the ability to erase the blunders of destiny. Human life has lost its worth. That is why this potion should never have been created. The world would have grown reckless, knowing that their lives meant absolutely nothing. So I will use this, and I will forget about it. About this power I hold in my hand. Me I don't deserve this power. Nobody does. Not you, not Alexia, not even Veronica. 

Veronica reminds me of an angel. I don't suppose you ever saw that in her. I don't suppose you ever even saw her. She is beautiful. Is that something to be wary of, or something to warm to? I haven't a clue. Nobody ever told me. 

So now, Steve, I have a decision to make. The most important decision I will ever have to make, I think. I have to decide which life is more important. The life of my friend, or the life of my ancestor. To you, there probably isn't any consideration. But we are very different, Steve, I don't expect you to understand what goes on in my troubled head. Hell, even I don't understand. 

But free will is something I have just recently begun to appreciate. Just as life is something you have recently begun to appreciate. Steve, all I ask is that you forgive me. Wherever you are, whatever you are doing, if anything, just hear this. I didn't want anything to happen to you. And I would like to think that we became friends, for a while. Heh only for a while. I know I don't deserve your friendship, or your forgiveness but please, put yourself in my misshapen shoes. They don't fit properly and they're all screwed up to hell but it might give you an idea.

It's strange, but I just can't imagine you being dead. You'll live on forever in the hearts and mind of your descendants, even thought you have none. But you would do, if you had some. We used to do that in my family, actually. But you already knew that, didn't you? I really shouldn't compare them to you. Or us to you. Or maybe us to them? I don't know. My mind is so tangled. I just need some time. Give me some more time, Steve; don't make me do this just yet not yet

---

"Where am I?" Steve asked her.

She turned to him, smiling softly. "You are at a crossroad," she replied simply, standing up to welcome him. "I did not expect to see you here, Steve. Not at all, in fact."

He stared at her, speechless. It was Veronica Ashford all right, and her similarity to Alexia and even to Alfred was clearly visible. Her skin was porcelain white, her thin eyebrows arched with superiority, her mouth twisted into a thin smile, her lips unblemished and a startling shade of red. Her pale blue eyes, identical to those of Alfred, watched him thoughtfully.

"Am I dead?" he asked, remembering how Walsh had shot him, and the intense crippling pain that had shot up from his chest and paralysed him. He remembered how the waters had parted beneath him and the feeling of desperation when the same dreaded waters closed over him, with such finality that he did not doubt that he was about to die.

"You are," she replied. "As am I. It is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Steve. I am sure you already know a lot about me," she said, with some barely disguised hidden meaning in her voice that he couldn't decipher. 

"A little," he said uncertainly. He knew she was referring to the times when he had fainted and caught a glimpse of Veronica's past, but how she knew was beyond him. In fact, he realised suddenly, he really didn't know what was going on. "What do you mean? A crossroad?"

"There is a considerable chance that you will not remain dead for long," she said disdainfully, looking away. "It would not be prudent for you to raise your hopes, for I am afraid those fragile hopes will soon be dashed and lost forever."

"Excuse me?" Steve asked, frowning. "What are you talking about?"

"The possibility of you being returned to the existence you knew previously is very slight, although in my good opinion it is none existent."

He stared at her evenly; taking in the way her body moved ever so slightly all the time. It was as if Veronica could never be still. She raised a gloved hand and ran it through her hair absently, and, Steve thought, her hair was blacker than the darkness surrounding them. It was blacker than black, so perfect and fragile if touched it should shatter into a thousand pieces. 

"Why?" he asked, his eyes focussing on the thin golden necklace draped casually across her shoulders. It was the only colourful thing around her, the one glimmer of light in an eternity of darkness. "How could I be brought back to life?"

She scowled at him, smudging the perfection of her beautiful face. "Because my child has the opportunity to return one of us to our lives. He is in possession of a potent medicine, capable of restoring me completely, and therefore restoring the Ashford family to greatness, and its deserved standing in society. With me alive once more, my family shall be saved form the depths of despair."

_Of course_, he thought, remembering the letter Alfred had received, presumably from his sister. _Perhaps that had contained a sample of whatever it was that had brought them both back to life. And Alfred intended to use it on Veronica_

"And there is a chance Alfred will ignore his lineage. He will ignore his heritage, his family and his birth, and use the only remaining amount of that substance to restore the life of a scoundrel he always hated, and who was responsible for bringing about the end of his life," Veronica said, the mockery in her voice obvious. "I'm sure you understand that there is no possibility of that happening."

Steve nodded glumly. It was true; there was no use in denying it. Why would Alfred even consider saving him? Even if there was a chance, Alfred was long gone; he wouldn't even know what had happened. 

Veronica laughed, her voice loosing the refined tone she usually spoke with. She became little more than a child, a child dressing up in her mother's clothes. But as soon as the light side to her appeared, it vanished again, and she became a cold and serious woman, her face closing up until she more resembled a painting than a person.

Steve avoided her hard blue eyes, and the triumphant gleam within them. _She's right_, a little voice in his head said. _Alfred would rather die than save you. He's probably bringing Veronica back to life right now, and in a moment she'll vanish, and you will too, presumably. There's no point in you hanging around here, clinging to what little remains of your life. _

"Buy why?" Steve asked, furious with himself. "Why did you send all those messages to me, why did you make me faint? You died such a long time ago how can this be?"

She eyed him severely; a sneer gracing her lips that made Steve feel incredibly inferior to her. "You really don't know? I wanted you to tell Alfred to come and save me – and you did. For that I am grateful," she told him. "I have been here for years, more than I could count. Time doesn't pass here, I know, but that doesn't mean things happen quickly. I have cried for as long as I can remember. I have called out to anyone, to everyone. Nobody was capable of intercepting my cry, nobody was able to hear it or understand me. Until a short while ago, when you suddenly became conscious, as it were.

"Your ears and mind became perfect receptors for my voice, and it was sheer luck that you happened to be with my dear Alfred at the time."

"Your _dear_ Alfred," Steve snapped. "You don't even know him!"

"I know enough," she said simply. "I know he would do anything for me. I know he has a strong sense of pride in his family, pride that almost failed him when his father lost the family's credibility in an unfortunate miscalculation."

"But you don't know _him_!" Steve insisted. "Oh sure, yeah, he loves his family, but who doesn't? You don't know his sense of humour, and his pride in himself! You don't know how nice he is to his friends, and how vulnerable to his enemies. You don't know how he reacts to things, to anything. You don't know how hard he has fought, both him and his sister, to make his family proud. You don't know! You don't know how good he is with a gun, or his inexplicable resistance to pain. You don't know of his incredible determination or strength of will. You don't know Alfred!"

"None of those things matter," she replied silkily, tossing her midnight black hair in defiance. "All that matters is his love for me."

"That's a lie!" Steve growled, furious with desperation. "Alfred is a good guy, deep down! He's got a sense of humour, and a firm sense of right and wrong. He's smart too; you can't pull any tricks on him. He seems outgoing and open, but he keeps a lot to himself. He knows which side the bread is buttered; he has an uncanny intuition. He is quick to anger, and easily offended, but he's a good person, for Christ's sake!"

_Why am I defending Alfred so much? And what am I defending him against? Against her. Against her and her stupid bloodline. Her ridiculous family pride and her cool, distant evil. Against Alfred just becoming another Ashford, a faceless doll for Veronica to manipulate however she likes. Only it's not my decision to make. It's Alfred's. _

_But if someone asked me to choose between my father and Alfred I don't know what I would do. It's not right, for anyone to have to make this decision. He probably won't have to. I'm probably still lying in the sewers, and Hunk won't be able to tell Alfred in time, if it makes any difference. I wish I wish I wasn't dead._

_Alfred just do what you think is right._

Veronica said nothing for a while, staring intensely at Steve. "Boy, you speak of friendship, and loyalty, and all those other fine qualities, but what do they mean to you? What do they mean to Alfred? Alfred is a troubled man. The pressure on him is immense. He has to hold out a little longer, do you understand? He has to keep the family going, until some miracle takes place and everything is good again for him. And now he's the only one left. Alexia is dead, I can feel it, and he is the only survivor. He's the last one. 

"Imagine the shame if the Ashford family dies with him. Imagine the pain and torment he puts himself through every day, just to keep his head above water. And he knows, all the time, that he's not getting any younger, and that soon it will all be over. And he prays, child, he prays for the miracle to hurry on its path, and prays for it to arrive tomorrow. And every night he cries himself to sleep, because he knows that the miracle is still a long way off, and he is going to have to fight on his own for another day. Another long day of toil without reward. Can you imagine that? No, I don't think you can. 

"And now that miracle is so close he can smell it. I am that miracle, boy; I can make everything right itself. I can pull the dregs of this family into the clouds, and Alfred will reign on high. His troubles will be over; the strain on his back will become as light as a feather. He won't be alone any more. Do you really think, Steve, that Alfred would forsake the happiness he truly deserves for the chance to have his friend back? You aren't a true friend of his, and we all know that. The only reason he tolerated you for so long is because he wanted to know how you overthrew the virus that you had been infected with. Alfred will not give up his destiny for a hated friend' he would not even consider it. So whatever hopes you have been nursing in that chest of yours, abandon them. The disappointment will only become all the more great." She fell silent, her eyes shining. "Now do you understand?

"I may not know him, but I know his suffering, and I alone can ease it. And that, child, is all that matters. My rebirth is nigh; the anticipation he feels is tangible, even to me. I shall rule once more, with Alfred by my side if that is where he desires to be, and together we will fly."

"No," Steve said quietly, his voice thick with unshakeable determination. "Alfred won't save me, I always knew that. But he is severely disillusioned. You may see yourself as his saviour, a miracle sent from above, but you aren't. You speak with such confidence, such arrogance, and it's infuriating. You will cast Alfred aside like an empty box, you will use him for his name and his amazing potion, and then he will be discarded. You only became what you were through manipulation of an old man close to death and a lot of luck! There is no nobility behind your family name, no sentiment of any kind, and Alfred knows that. You are a fraud, Veronica, a little girl from the slums who always wants more. You could never be content with Alfred. 

"And things have changed! No longer do the Ashford's obey your memory with such blind devotion! They have broken away from your terrible stranglehold. Would they have founded Umbrella if you and only you led them? Of course not! What you say may promise great things, but you cannot know how to succeed in the modern world. You think that with a click of your fingers you will pull the Ashford's back from the brink of financial ruin? You think everything will just slot magically back into its proper place? Well it won't. The proper place for you is here. Things change, and Alfred knows that. He knows when to let go of a futile idea, no matter how many generations it has lasted through.

"Stick with your insane metaphors of eagles and halberds, and your hopeless dreams of greatness. Stick with your symbolism, and your lofty mansions, buried in your mind. Stick with your gothic horror, and your hidden palaces, and your creepy, creepy, misplaced beliefs. And you know where they lie? In your mind, Veronica. In your sick, twisted mind. And you can sit here forever, and dream of grandeur, but it is _all_ in your mind. Don't you see? It can never happen!"

Veronica stared at him coldly, her icy blue eyes searing deep inside his soul. She opened her mouth, her eyes flashing dangerously, to unleash a heartless reply to his rant. 

And they both disappeared.

---

Hunk eyed Alfred from a distance as he leaned over Steve. Alfred was moving his mouth, but no noise was coming out. Normally Hunk would have made some comment about Alfred's mental state, but he kept quiet, and just watched as Alfred agonised internally about the choice that he had to make.

His gun was warm, and the memory was fresh in his mind of the terrible zombies outside the mansion. They had moved to attack him, and Hunk had begun firing, one hand carrying Steve over his shoulder, fearing for his life. But the zombies fell back, leaving a pathway clear to the main entrance. The zombies evidently weren't happy, as if they were being forced away against their will, if indeed they possessed any will. Hunk had been terrified, but he made for the door anyway, knowing it was the only reasonable way into the mansion. He couldn't very well have dragged Steve through an upstairs window, something he would have considered if Steve had not been there.

Maybe it was just his imagination, or maybe he had misheard, but he was sure he heard a beautiful female voice telling him to run. So he ran. Who could it have been? He didn't know.

Alfred stood up, his face drawn and expressionless. He nodded to Hunk, who stood firm and nodded back. It was, after all, Alfred's decision, and he wasn't going to interfere. It wasn't his place. He watched as Alfred held the test-tube up into what little light there was, and waited. 

He waited for an eternity. His eyes followed Alfred's frail figure as he moved from one to the other, the anguish inside of him easily visible. Such pain unimaginable pain. Inconceivable pain. But something must be done, or else both Steve and Veronica would remain dead forever, and Alfred would surely go insane. But still Hunk stood his ground, and watched. 

Alfred made his choice. 

And gradually, with infuriating slowness, Steve opened his eyes. 

The End

First off, I would like to apologise to all of you for the ridiculous amount of time it took me to get this last chapter up. You are all entitled to hate me. Was it really September when I put the last one up? Oh, I am so evil! I'm sorry, really I am. You know how it is though, when you don't want to let go of something you've nurtured for so long... goodbye, dear story!

Now, to thank all my brilliant readers and reviewers. Knowing that other people have read and (perhaps) appreciated my work really cheers me up. Congrats to Keebo and Kocchi Highwind, for knowing the extremely eerie song, 'Berceuse'. Big hug to everyone else who has reviewed me. I am in the middle of a sequel that'll bring the Redfield siblings into the mix. Ah, just thinking about the arguments between Chris and Claire and Alfred make me smile.

If you want to tell me that I'm both lazy and slow, feel free. If you want to tell me anything else, please do. I love feedback (don't we all?) So, if you want to make a poor author very happy, then go right ahead and write me a review or send me an email. If you want to make me miserable... well, let's not go down that road, okay? What did you think? Did Alfred make the wrong choice? Oh, come off it, you all knew he was gonna pick Steve. Admit it! Go on, tell me what you thought.

Sorry, thanks, g'bye. That about sums it up.


End file.
